My life in the ‘box’ began in 1962. My Mother was an usherette in the Monseigneur News Theatre,
Princes St., Edinburgh and I had just left school and was looking for a
job. The Cinema manager was a little sweet on Mum and when she told him
about me, I was employed as the spoolboy. So began a sporadic lifetime
in films, culminating in present-day 2007 which finds me as a part-time
projectionist/f.o.h. at a couple of country cinemas near Melbourne,
Australia.

c. 1962

The Monseigneur was the only Scottish site of the
small chain of news theatres, all in London and situated in or near
railway stations. Starting at 12 noon, we screened a continuous
one-hour programme of cartoons, shorts, comedies and a newsreel. My job
was pure and simple – wind the film reels and hand the right one to the
duty projectionist. Also, on a Monday and Wednesday, I had to cycle along to
Waverley Station and join the other spoolboys from a dozen cinemas in
collecting Movietone News, which had been rushed via overnight train
from London. Because the film was fresh from the laboratory, it was
‘green’ and had to be waxed, in order for it to run smoothly through
the machine. We had Ross C3 projectors, Peerless arcs and an RCA sound system. The
non-sync was a normal record deck and occasionally we would get a 78rpm
record to play with film. This was almost always a Charlie Chaplin
comedy. It is true to say that the sound-on-disc ran ‘more or less’ in
sync with the picture. Thank goodness it did not happen very often!

To access the box took nerves of steel, especially
when carrying heavy film cases. After climbing the three flights of
stairs to the roof, one then had to descend a steep, narrow steel
stairway into the box. The rewind room was originally a concrete room
on the roof, but by the time I arrived there, the rewind area was
situated at the rear of the machines. Very cosy, but considering that a
lot of film we ran was nitrate, it was a monumental fire risk, bearing
in mind that we were running carbon arcs and most of the nitrate
was Disney cartoons!

The curtain was a magnificent scalloped velvet
affair coloured gold and looked most impressive when it was lowered at
the end of each show. After about one minute, it was raised again and
away we went with the next show. We ran nine shows daily and,
especially at weekends, the queues stretched quite a way down the
street.

Bill McQueen was the Chief and John Dingwall was the 2nd. Bill passed
away in 1973, but John was quite a young chap. I wonder where he is
now? After a short while, it was decided that I should be indentured as
an apprentice, do the technical college course and, after three years,
gain my 2nd projectionist’s certificate.

So, off I went twice weekly
to Brunton College, Edinburgh University to study how to be a competent
projectionist. One had to learn all sorts of things back then. How to
build a valve amplifier; understand the use of ‘push/pull’ tubes ; and
design a cinema from the ground up, with all the relevant regulations
of fire exits per capita, screen ratio and size etc,etc. Can you
imagine today’s operators having to do all that just to run a
computer-controlled multiplex?

c.1964

A few months after I started at college, we were
given the bad news that the cinema was closing, to be re-furbished by
the new owners, Jacey Cinemas. It was to be closed for quite a while,
which meant that everyone was out of work. Except me! Because I was
indentured as an apprentice, Jacey had to find me another position. So,
I was transferred to the ABC Lothian Road.

Regal in 1990s.

Wow! This was the big time, as the ABC was the flagship cinema in
Scotland for Associated British. Not only did they screen roadshows for
several months, often in 70mm, but touring rock bands and singers
performed on the fair sized stage area in front of the screen. In fact,
back when I was at the Monseigneur, Cliff Richard and the Shadows
popped in for the film programme, in between shows at the ABC. Mum,
who was on tickets that day was beside herself with excitement. They
all came in with handkerchiefs over their faces, but once inside,
bought tickets and nibbles quite happily. I missed it, but Mum
remembers them as being most delightful.

Right, back to the ABC. There was a large crew in the box, with a
Chief, two 2nds and an apprentice on each shift. I worked with Walter
Chapman, Ronnie Sinclair and David ????, but I cannot for the life of
me remember the chaps on the other crew.

From memory, David was in charge of one machine, Ronnie
in charge if the other, whilst Walter seemed to wander around, not
doing very much. I, of course was still in charge of the rewind
room. It was a rigid ABC rule that, when your projector was ‘on’,
you sat beside it and did not move until changeover time. It must be
stated that all this happened several years before 6000ft reels, so
everything was running off 2000ft reels.

Which brings me to an amazing incident involving David. I must
explain first that the projection suite at the ABC was made up of
several rooms. The main projection room, with the rewind room through a
couple of doors (fireproof) at the far end. Before you entered the
projection room, you passed through the rectifier room and the lunch
room. Also, there was a large flat roof, which was used in fine
weather. It happened to overlook an office building, filled with pretty
young typists etc. Many a paper aeroplane note was flown between the
two buildings. Some of them actually made the trip!

So, on this particular occasion, Ron, Wattie and I were on the roof
having a cuppa, when the house phone went. It was the irate manager,
demanding to know why we had a white sheet. We raced in to the box, to
find David staring at the feed spool (empty) and the take-up flapping
around.

Walter Chapman in 1964

Ron started his machine and we discovered that David had
been watching his feed spool going round and round and he had actually
been hypnotised, so that he was in a trance! Enter one angry manager,
as this was a sackable offence at ABC. With a lot of fancy talking,
plus one look at David, he was convinced of David’s innocence, but he
warned us not to let it happen again.

The other funny anecdote that has stuck in my mind
all these years is from the time we were screening “Mutiny on the
Bounty” with Brando in 70mm. It had been running about 4/5 months and
being an even 14 reels, then David had always run 1-3-5-7-9 etc and Ron
had run 2-4-6-8 etc. However, one afternoon, we arrived and were told
that, due to a minor problem with a machine earlier, which had been
rectified between shows, the reels were on the opposite projectors. No
problem, or so we thought. During the evening run, I dutifully brought
out reel 10 for Ron. He checked it, threaded it and then changed over
on cue.

Caley staff in 1963(left: Tom Kerr, right: Willie Temple)

We immediately realised something was wrong, because the scene had gone
from Brando and Tarita making love in the bushes, to Brando on the
stern of his ship waving farewell, as he sailed away. I dashed back to
get reel 9 and David threaded it and changed over immediately and there
was Brando and Tarita still at it back in the bushes. I was so lucky
that nobody noticed, because I could have easily been dismissed for
that.
During my time at the ABC, I was also using my spare time in being
a holiday relief all over the place. I did many shifts at the Caley
Cinema, the only cinema with a lift to ferry the patrons (and
projectionists) to the circle and beyond. It was a huge cinema, in
excess of 2000 I think and one of the few to retain the ‘cuddle’ seats,
which was simply a twin bench seat with no armrest, designed for
smooching. I vaguely recall putting one of them to good use with an
usherette.

I spent a lot time at the Tudor,
Stockbridge with a dear friend, Willie Temple. The Tudor was the
epitome of a ‘fleapit’ and I am reminded of it whenever I watch the
film “The Smallest Show on Earth”. The box was equipped with Simplex 8
projectors, with awful front shutters that clattered very noisily.

But it was the screen that was the most amazing thing. It was simply
the rear wall painted white. No masking, so that Cinemascope and wide
screen shared the same size image. Quite a problem if the
action was at the extremes of a Cinemascope frame. Do you remember
‘Pillow Talk’ with Rock Hudson and Doris Day? There was a long dinner
scene wherein they are holding hands and murmuring sweet nothings
across a candlelit table. Trouble was that at the Tudor that’s all you
got - no faces at all as they were outside the screen size.

Tudor

When the Tudor closed, Willie went down to the George,
Portobello and I did quite a few shifts for him there. Sometime during
all this, the Jacey had re-opened as a news theatre, closed again and
re-opened again as a Continental cinema, but I never went back. I
was quite happy, doing relief work here and there, gaining experience
with many different projectors. I saw time at the La Scala, the Cameo
and I even did the Edinburgh Film Festival one year. That was hard
work, as you were on duty by yourself all day, with a vast array of
films to deal with. There were features, documentaries, shorts and
anything they could throw at you at the last minute. There were two
35mm machines and a 16mm projector. It was held in a small cinema,
about 75 seats and there was no guarantee that a film would actually
get its full run. After a while, the phone would go and they would
request something else, ‘as soon as you can please’. I wonder if it is
still the same today?

I had gained my projectionist’s certificate, which
in those days was a lot harder to obtain than it is today. Sad thing
about it was that, on arriving in Australia, it was not worth the paper
it was printed on.

c.1962

My parents decided to move to Kirkcaldy in 1968 and I was fortunate to find that the Odeon
there required a 2nd projectionist. For some reason, there was only one
projectionist at that time, so they welcomed me with open arms. John,
the Chief had been doing long hours, seven days a week for a while, due
to the staff shortage. Anyway, I started and a few weeks later Bill
Danks came from Grangemouth and filled the other
vacancy. Within a few more weeks, John announced that he was leaving
due to ill-health and I was duly appointed as Chief Projectionist, at
23 the youngest Chief on the Rank circuit! Bill and I soldiered on for
quite a while, then Alec Greenhorn joined us. I have wonderful happy
memories of the Odeon. We had a large Saturday Morning Minors Club and
it was not unusual to have 400-500 kids screaming their lungs out at a
Roy Rogers feature. During the final thrilling race sequence in “The
Iron Maiden”, I thought the roof was going to be lifted off by their
cheering.

Being a Rank house, it had the standard Kalee 21, President arc and
Westrex sound set-up. It was the first cinema I had worked that had
the box on the ground floor, in between the candy bar and the rear
stalls. It seated just under 1000 and every weekend our doorman Peter
Bain would be out front, controlling the queues for stalls and circle.
The programme always consisted of support feature, news and Look at
Life, then main feature. Most shows would screen seven days, but a lot
of minor films would only be on for three days, with a special art
house film occupying the single day left over. We ran a lot of midnight
matinees, so there were many occasions where we have up to 20 features
piled up. My records still list October 1970 as having 23 features in
one month, plus 4 weeks of Minors Matinee films.

I want to
take time to explain our geographical location, as it resulted in a
most embarrassing moment. The rear carpark of the cinema backed onto
the Esplanade and sometimes during the spring tides would be subject to
flooding, as would the rest of the Esplanade. Our sound system, for
some unknown reason was controlled by the amplifiers and cross-overs
being located under the stage, where an organ used to be in days gone
by. The amps were run by hefty power supplies and they too were under
the stage.

George

George

Bill Danks

Suite

A Greenhorn

Bill Danks

We were screening “Diamonds are Forever” and had
virtually a full house. It was raining cats and dogs outside and the
sea was being whipped up by the very strong winds, but all was cosy and
warm in the cinema. About 45 minutes into the main feature, one of the
usherettes called me and asked what was wrong with the sound. It was
fine in the box, so I went out into the auditorium and there was
nothing. Back into the box and everything on the monitor was fine, so
the problem had to be with the amps. I shot out and notified the
manager and ran down the stalls, opened the door leading to understage
and saw the amps and power supplies sitting in about two feet of water!
Poor Basil Laidlaw (the manager). He had to issue nearly 900
re-admission tickets and close his cinema while Rank’s technicians came
and installed new equipment. We were shut for three days, but the final
humiliation came when we read the next edition of the Fife Free Press
local newspaper. I wish I had kept a copy, because right across the
front page in big print was the headline – BOND SILENCED AT THE ODEON.

We had a lot of promotional fun at the Odeon. Not many cinemas can
boast of having Herbie the Love Bug parked in their foyer, but we did,
in order to promote the first Herbie film. When the first Planet of
the Apes film was released, an actor turned up, hired to go around town
in an ape costume handing out ‘comps’ to see the film. As he was a
stranger in town, it fell to me to drive him to the various shopping
centres and escort him as he terrified the local populace! Some of the
reactions were quite hilarious!

Another amazing technical feature was the house lights dimmer. The
footlights were dimmed by a normal rheostat slider, but the house
lights relied on a remarkable tall ceramic affair with a conduction rod
sliding up and down in water, to create the resistance. God knows where
it came from.

Oct. 1974

It was about five feet tall, with a thick rod attached to a cable and a
counterweight. You raised and lowered this thing into the water via a
series of pulleys and it gave the most perfect dimming you have ever
seen. You could do it fast or slow, but if you lowered it too fast, the
rod had a tendency to jam. By today’s standards it would be the most
hazardous device, but I would dearly love to know who came up with it.

Sadly we will never know, as the Odeon burnt to the
ground in December 1974, three months after I had left for Australia.
The cause was three youths who had broken in and were trying to find
their way about using matches. It was not rebuilt and the site became a
clothing store.

I arrived in Australia to a job with Hoyt’s theatres in the heart of Melbourne, but that’s another story...